


A Simple Stroll

by myscribblingquill



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: (only a little bit though), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon Divergence - Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Crying, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 13:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11381253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myscribblingquill/pseuds/myscribblingquill
Summary: On the streets of Verona there's blood being shed, the feud is tearing people from their loved ones once again and even royally sanctioned couples can't avoid the violence.Warnings for blood, gore and other things that come with dying, like love confessions.





	A Simple Stroll

**Author's Note:**

> I'M SORRY

There is blood everywhere. It’s all over Rosaline’s hands, her dress and covering the ground under where Benvolio lays. The red liquid, sticky and smelling of iron, is still spurting out of Benvolio’s leg.

“Benvolio,” Rosaline asserts, grabbing his attention away from his own leg. A leg that's gaping open at the side, blood spilling onto the street.

She pulls off her light jacket, bundling it up into a pile and pressing it to his leg. The sudden pressure evicts a gasp from him. Pain stricken, he tries to pull away from the pressure that Rosaline is applying but she pulls him back, pressing the makeshift bandage to his leg, even if the groans make her hands shake.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She chants as she keeps the bandage in place. There’s nothing to tie it with. Rosaline uses her hands instead, pressing them against Benvolio’s leg. She can almost feel the blood seeping its way through the fabric slowly.

“I’m sorry, but I have to stop the bleeding.” Rosaline turns away from Benvolio. The pain on his face is too much for her to bear. She needs to concentrate on keeping him alive, keeping the blood in his body, so that he can wake up to annoy her again tomorrow.

“Capulet,” He groans.

“You don’t need to talk,” She presses the bandage harder, the blood is going to seep through soon.

He hisses as Rosaline adjusts her position on the floor. Kneeling next to him, with the hard cobbles pressing in her knees, she doesn’t look at the trail of blood running down the cracks.

“I don’t think,” He hisses again, “This is bad, Rosaline.”

At Benvolio’s utterance of her first name, Rosaline almost lets go of the bandage. Her grip loosen, till she realises it’s done so, and she increases it again.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”

She scoffs, to stop herself from crying, “You didn’t drag me, I dragged you remember?”

Benvolio tries a laugh which turns into a wince and then another groan. “I remember, I didn’t have much of a choice did I? We were tied together at the time.”

Tears rush to Rosaline’s eyes as the memory of the betrothal ceremony springs to mind. It certainly hadn’t been a happy occasion and now it all seemed pretty pointless. The idea of the marriage was to stop bloodshed, not cause more.

“I wouldn’t mind being tied to you though. Wasn’t too keen on it at first, but now,” He pauses deliberately, “I think I’m quite reconciled to it.”

Rosaline puts the softness of his word down to delirium from blood loss. She checks the bandage again. The blood has soaked through now, it’s dripping through the gaps in her fingers.

“We need some help down here,” She cries down the street. Her yell sounds pathetic and feeble to her own ears and her voice cracks in the middle.

“You’ve got to stop bleeding, Montague,” She chastises him.

“I’ll get right on that,”

“I can’t-” The bright colours of her dress catch her eye, and she pulls out her petticoat from under her skirts. It would be scandalous to take it off in public, but she’s with her betrothed and he’s dying. Rosaline is running out of options. She rips off her petticoat and stuffs it against the wound. 

“I didn’t realise I had to bleed out on the street to make you take off your clothes.”

She laughs, a watery laugh, that causes Benvolio to smile down at her. The look on his face when he does so speaks volumes. Rosaline knows that he’s about to say something stupid, like goodbye or impart his great life advice on her. But she’s not ready to give up on him just yet.

“Anyone, please?” she yells down the street again, “We need a cart down here.”

Her shout must have roused someone as she hears running footsteps. The man who appears, panting and out of breath, recognises Rosaline but she doesn’t recognise him.

“My Lady?” he questions, having not yet seen Benvolio’s wound, wondering why a Capulet Lady is sitting on the dusty floor.

“Please, we need a cart to get him to Montague house and,” She holds up a hand covered with blood, “A doctor.”

At the sight of the blood, the man takes off running. With help on the way Rosaline returns her attention to Benvolio. His head has lolled back against the cobbles, instead of perched upright.

“Montague,” Rosaline snaps. He can’t have passed out yet. She knows he’s lost a lot of blood but she needs him to stay awake. His conscious presence is that only thing keeping her focused on the task of keeping him alive.

“I’m still here,” he assures her, although his voice is quieter now as if it takes effort to talk.

“Good, please don’t fall asleep on me,”

“I don’t think I’m in the right state to be making promises like that,”

Rosaline ignores him. He might be bleeding out but that’s no reason for him not to keep any promises he’s made. Especially the ones he’s made to her. She’s going to hold him to them, he’s not allowed to die. Not yet.

The bleeding seems to have subsided a little. There’s no more blood seeping onto the ground so Rosaline removes a hand from the bandage. For once she’s grateful for Livia making her dress properly that morning. She rips off the delicate lace that adorns her newly made clothes. The tearing of the fabric makes her wince when she thinks of how much it had cost. She brushes the thoughts of her Aunt’s anger from her head, and sets to wrapping the straps around Benvolio’s leg. With the bandage secure Rosaline’s hands are free to check for any other injuries Benvolio might have obtained.

Her hands run up his other leg, down his arms, along his side. She ignores the firmly toned muscles of his arms, and the faint panes she can feel along his stomach. He flinches away when her fingers brush over his left side.

“It’s nothing Capulet,” He says in response to her concerned look. “Just a fencing bruise.”

The way he brushes it off makes her suspicious but so long as it’s not currently causing him pain she moves on. 

“I thought we were supposed to wait for our wedding night,” Benvolio quips, as she reaches underneath him to check his back. “I knew you were counting the days, but I didn’t think you were this eager.”

“I’m just making sure that we’ll both make it to our wedding night,” Rosaline retorts, glad she hasn’t found any more blood leaking from his body. “I think it’s just your leg that’s bleeding.”

“Bastard,” He says referring to the other man who had given him his current injury.

It was supposed to be a normal afternoon. Their families had arranged for them to go on a romantic stroll around the city, though what was romantic about being watched and scrutinised for two hours Rosaline was yet to figure out. She would have much preferred to spend the afternoon at another picnic or out of the city. Anywhere that she wasn’t being watched would have been preferable.

Their walk had been going as well as could be hoped. Since their betrothal, and subsequent investigation into the real cause of their family’s feud, Rosaline had felt a sort of camaraderie with Benvolio. They had become reluctant friends and allies, out of necessity. Rather than dreading their fast approaching wedding Rosaline found herself occasionally forgetting that it was going to occur at all, and ever increasingly, almost looking forward to it. She didn’t relish the thought of being bound to a Montague for the rest of her life, but she didn’t object to being bound to Benvolio.  
Naturally, as with all things in Verona, their walk was interrupted by the feud’s presence.

A man had lunged out from the darkness of an alley, sword in hand, yelling about stopping the peace in Verona. Benvolio had pushed Rosaline out of the way, pulling his own sword to protect them both. From the start of the fight it had been evident that Benvolio was the better swordsman but his attention was split between his opponent and Rosaline. A minor slip in Benvolio’s attention had allowed his opponent to lunge, his sword dragging a deep gash on Benvolio’s leg. The man had then been wounded by Benvolio, before he scampered off to whatever hole he had crawled out of, and Benvolio collapsed to the floor.

“Don’t worry about him,” Rosaline touches her hand to Benvolio’s cheek and then quickly withdraws it, “I’m sure he’s in a worse state than you are.”

“And I’ll bet that he doesn’t have as pretty a nurse as I do.”

Rosaline shakes her head at Benvolio’s awful attempt to lighten the mood. He’s bleeding to death and still trying to flirt with her.

“Flattery will not tempt me to attempt to carry you back to Montague house.”

“So long as it keeps you hear with me, I care not what my flattery achieves,” He grasps for her hand, when finding it he intertwines their fingers, “And tis not flattery. Tis the truth.”

She tries to smile but her tears are threatening to start spilling down her cheeks, so Rosaline settles for pushing his hair out of his eyes instead. It’s fallen flat now, pasted to his forehead with sweat. His eyes are bleary, with pain or blood loss, and there’s a soft smile on his lips. Rosaline wonders if this is what he looks like when he wakes up in the morning. Without the pain in his eyes, cobbles at his head and faint trace of blood in his beard, Rosaline can well imagine herself waking up beside that smile and unstyled hair each morning.

“Rosaline,” He tries to sit up a little. The pain the shots though his leg cause a grunt and he collapses back down onto the ground, jarring his back.

“I’ve got you,” Rosaline shuffles forward, tucking her skirts under his head but still sitting off to one side so she can keep an eye on his leg.

“I don’t think,” He stops. Guilt floods his face. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it to our wedding.”

“No,” Rosaline manages to choke out, denying the possibility of him not making it off this street.

“Ros, I want to marry you,” He states it simply, as if the past few months haven’t been dictated by them being forced into marriage.

It occurs to Rosaline that he’s never actually said those words before. Their engagement had been announced to them, not the other way around. Benvolio never got to ask her to marry him. There was no romantic proposal or tear-filled kisses afterwards. They got told they were getting married and that was the end of it.

The same thought must have been occurring to Benvolio, “Rosaline Capulet, will you marry me?”

Rosaline laughs this time, a watery laugh as she allows her tears to spill down her face. “Yes, yes.”

“Good,” He relaxes a little, turning his face upwards so he can see her better. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Benvolio says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he’s not dying in her arms and her tears aren’t dripping down onto his shirt. It’s almost like they’re two normal people on the edge of falling in love. And that’s what they are Rosaline realises. They could be about to fall in love. Rosaline had felt herself teetering on the edge for days now, all it would have taken would be a smile or a proposal. 

Unexpectedly Rosaline wants to lash out at him, hit him, run away, deny the current situation she’s in. He’s going to be able to die content with the knowledge that she was falling in love with him and Rosaline? Rosaline is going to have to live with that knowledge. She’s going to have to get up from the dusty street cobbles, knowing that Benvolio was falling in love with her and she him. She’ll have to live with that for the rest of her years and it makes her so angry at him. 

“I’m sorry,” He interrupts her thoughts, “For telling you I love you and then dying.”

“You’re not dead yet,”

“Always the stubborn one aren’t you, Ros”

Rosaline raises herself up a little, so she can look him dead in the eye. “Benvolio Montague, I‘m falling in love with you, we are getting married and you are not dying.”

“Yes, my love.”

Silence falls over them for a moment. Rosaline can hear some bustle on a distant street. She hopes that it’s someone coming to help. Someone, anyone. At this point she’d even be glad to see Lord Montague, even if he’d likely reprimand Benvolio for making a scene.

“You called me Benvolio,” Benvolio’s face twitches into a smile. “You’ve never called me that before. It’s always been Capulet or My Lord.”

Rosaline thinks she can see the signs of blood loss settling in but she has no idea what she’s looking for so she could be wrong. “When we’re married, I’ll call you Benvolio every day.”

Benvolio’s eyes start to droop shut. Panic sets into Rosaline’s stomach, they need a doctor, now, and she needs to keep him awake.

“Though I can’t promise that I’ll be saying your name nicely. If you’ve eaten all of the breakfast before I get up then it’ll probably be shouted.”

“No eating breakfast before you. Got it.” His eyes flutter open.

“Ros,” His breathing starts to get slower. Rosaline can sees his body giving out on him. She peers down at the white petticoat she’s used as a bandage. It’s soaked red with blood.

“I’ve just got to fix this bandage,” she wipes the tears off her cheeks but more spring to her eyes, blurring her vision.

“Rosaline,”

The weakness in his voice startles Rosaline. His face is pale and his hands are cold as they clutch at hers.

“You’ve got to find them,” He nods down at his leg, “Find them and stop them. There’s been too much bloodshed.”

“We’ll find them together.”

“I admire your optimism,” He’s struggling to breath now. The up and down movements of his chest are barely visible. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to see this adventure through.”

“No, no, no. Ben, no. Please.” Rosaline clasps his face in her hands, willing him to just keep breathing, keep living. “Help is almost here. Please Ben,”

She’s leaning over his face now. The soft breaths he’s struggling to take, blowing against her mouth.

“Ros,”

No, Ben.” She presses her lips against his, giving him her breath. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see his white face. When she draws away his chest isn’t moving, his lips parted with a faint smile. She lets out a cry.

“No,”

When she lets go of his hands they flop lifelessly onto his still chest.

“No, no, no,” she grabs at his hands again, clutching them to her chest. They’re still warm. 

Rosaline can’t accept that he was so alive a few minute earlier and now he’s gone. She leans forward across his chest. A wail builds in the bottom of her chest and when she lets it out, it’s muffled in Benvolio’s shirt. Her tears start following freely then. She’s not aware of anything else going on around her. All her senses are focused on her grief, the smell of his shirt, the sound of her sobs, the sharp salt from her tears.

A hand on her shoulder makes her jump. She hadn’t noticed anyone else in the street with her. The weight of the hand is unfamiliar. It’s not Livia, or Isabella or even Escalus. When she looks up she sees Benvolio’s uncle. Lord Montague stares down in horror at the body of his second deceased heir.

“What,” He chokes on his words, “What happened?”

“He got stabbed and he died.” Rosaline’s sobs suddenly subside. The presence of another person suddenly brings her back to reality. The sorrow she sees on Lord Montague’s face feels pitiful in comparison to the depth of Rosaline’s grief. She wants to stand up and look Lord Montague in the eye, to dare him to say something against Benvolio, but she can’t make herself move.

“Who stabbed him?” 

Rosaline’s eyes flick down to the wound on Benvolio’s leg. She’d been so caught up in stopping his bleeding, that the two abandoned swords had completely slipped her notice.

“I don’t know, but his sword is over there,” She points.

Whomever the perpetrator is, Rosaline is desperately hoping that there’s nothing that will link them to the Capulet’s. Even though his nephew has just died, Rosaline can guess that Lord Montague wants nothing more than to pin it on his rival, and subsequently on her.

“It’s not a Capulet sword.”

“What did you think? That I lured him out here so I could let someone stab him?” Rosaline spits, “He is my betrothed and now he is dead.”

Her voice cracks on the last word. Tears are still running down her face, but she doesn’t do anything to stop them. Lord Montague doesn’t look at her or Benvolio’s body. He’s examining the sword, looking for clue of Capulet interference.

“Rosaline,” A cry comes from the end of the street. She looks away from Benvolio reluctantly, to see Isabella running towards her, Escalus following closely behind already bellowing orders.

“Are you hurt?” Isabella’s looks in horror at her blood stained hands and dress.

“No I,” Rosaline can’t bring herself to say it again, that Benvolio is dead, so she moves a little to give Isabella a proper view of his body.

“No, is he -?” She looks distraught at the possibility that Benvolio is dead. Rosaline’s not sure if it’s from friendly concern or distress at the breakdown of the political alliance that would have come from the now impossible marriage.

“Rosaline,” Escalus strides over, already in control of the situation, he reaches out a hand to help her up from the ground. She waves him off, leaning on Isabella to help her up. Her feet slip a little in the blood.

“Take Lord Montague’s nephew back to his house. Make sure there is a doctor waiting,” Escalus starts giving orders as soon as he sees Benvolio’s body.

“Take him to the mausoleum. There’s naught a doctor can do for him now.” Rosaline’s surprised at the calm in her voice. There are still tears dripping down her cheeks, but she just feels empty. Empty and calm. 

Now stood up Rosaline can see the scene properly. There’s blood smeared along the walls, leading away from the scene of the fight. She hopes that there’s enough of a trail to find whomever was responsible. Benvolio’s body is surrounded by blood. The edges of the pool, dried out and brown, while the rest looks like dyed water. 

“Come, I will take you home.” Isabella wraps an arm around Rosaline and turns her away from Benvolio’s body.

“Isabella, no. I can’t leave,” Rosaline strains against her arms, frantic to catch one last glimpse of Benvolio.

“Rosaline,” Isabella is gently moving her towards the carriage, but Rosaline can’t look away from Benvolio’s body. “You’re covered in blood. You need to bathe.”

Once they’re in the carriage, neither of them speak. Rosaline keeps her tears quiet, staring out the window and controlling her breathing otherwise she might break down into sobs. She’s knows it’ll happen as soon as she’s alone but she would prefer to wait till she’s in the privacy of her home, not being carted along the streets of Verona. Isabella doesn’t press her. She just sits there, holding her hand, silently offering her support. Rosaline’s never been more grateful for their rekindled friendship.

As soon ass they’re home, Livia takes in her appearance and runs off to boil water for a bath. Isabella sets to work scrubbing the blood off Rosaline’s hands. She scrubs so hard that Rosaline’s hands burn red. It feels like that’s the only way to get Benvolio’s blood off her hands, so she doesn’t complain.

Isabella and Livia help her out of her clothes. Her own hands are shaking, the laces of her stays slip away from her fingers. 

When she gets in the bath Rosaline finds that it’s not just her hands that are covered in blood. It’s all over her legs, up her arms and even in her hair. She scrubs her hands again, as if Benvolio’s blood has leached through her skin and she can’t get it out. She lets out a dry sob which summons Livia into the room.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine,” Rosaline doesn’t look at her sister, who will take one look at the tears running down her face and refuse to leave the room. “I just need to get this blood off.”

She stays in the bath until the water turns cold. Livia has to drag her out, wrapped in towels and shivering, Rosaline lets them brush out her hair and put her into nightclothes. 

Sitting in her bed Rosaline feels like a normal person again. There’s no smell of blood lingering on her hair, her blood soaked dress has disappeared, no doubt thrown away. Rosaline can almost forget that Benvolio just died in her arms.

At the thought of him, her tears increase again. She hasn’t stopped crying since Benvolio stopped breathing but now it feels like her chest has been ripped out. Rosaline gives in. She collapses back onto her bed. Her head buried into the pillow she lets her sobs out, not caring anymore about who can hear her.

Isabella and Livia are both there in an instant. They wrapped their arms around her, stroke her hair and offer what comfort they can. Rosaline is grateful to them both but they’re not who she wants there now. 

She wants Juliet. Juliet is the only person who can understand how she feels. Juliet felt the loss of Romeo, when he was banished from the city and in those few moments before she took her own life. Rosaline knows that Isabella and Livia want to help, but they can’t understand what she’s going through. Only Juliet can do that, and she’s dead too.

Rosaline cries. She cries and cries, until her eyes hurt, her stomach aches and she finally falls asleep with the salty taste of tears on her lips.

She’s able to grieve for two days. And then her uncle demands her presence at a meeting with Lord Montague. Rosaline is so tempted to refuse to leave her room, refuse to even look at him. But she has to get up at some point. She has to do something to distract her mind.

When she walks into the room, Escalus and Lord Montague are already there. Rosaline looks for signs of grief in Lord Montague’s face. He looks a little tired and his face is stiffer than usual but other than that he looks unaffected by prior events. Rosaline knows her eyes are puffy and her chest is threatening to shake from tears again. She hopes he notices and feels ashamed for not mourning his nephew like he mourned his son.

“Lady Rosaline, allow me to express my sincerest condolences on the death of your betrothed.” Escalus is stoic and unmoved by her quivering lip. “It is unfortunate that he died before you were able to wed.”

“Unfortunate?” She questions. Anger rips through her, still tinged by grief and making it all the more potent. “Unfortunate that you cannot protect even the residences of your city, that they are dying in the streets and families are losing child after child. That even those who were supposed to stop this feud were not better protected against it. It’s not unfortunate.” She spits, “It’s completely avoidable.”

“You must excuse my niece. She is overcome from grief.” Lord Capulet pulls her away and pushes her down into a chair. He almost looks pleased at her outburst, that she fulfilling her role as a grief stricken lover.

“I apologise for my role in this tragedy My Lady,” Escalus continues, ignoring Lord Capulet, “Your marriage was supposed to prevent any more violence within our fair city.”

“Well, I think we can all tell it hasn’t worked as one of the parties involved in lying dead next to his cousin.” Her voice increases to a yell and Lord Montague flinches.

“Rosaline,” Her uncle reprimands her but Rosaline can’t bring herself to care. The only thing that used to make these meetings bearable was the presence of Benvolio. He was her only ally in a room full of people plotting against them and now she has to fight them all alone.

As Lord Montague can’t even look at her, he launches into a different subject. Her bride price. It had already been paid at the betrothal ceremony but there had been no wedding everyone was unsure as to what to do about the other arrangements. Rosaline was destined to become a Montague, she should have become one had it not been for Benvolio’s death. That means now no one can agree on who’s responsibility she is. She can’t be regarded as Benvolio’s widow as they had never wed, yet they would have done if he had not died.

It makes Rosaline sick that they are arguing over money when another person has just died because of their petty hatred. She tries to catch Escalus' eye, to signal that she wants to get out of this room, out of this conversation, but he isn’t paying any attention.

“Brother, I don’t think it’s appropriate for Rosaline to be here.” Isabella’s voice echoes across the hall. “She has just lost her beloved and I don’t think she wishes listen to you all discussing her like a cargo shipment.”

“Rosaline starts at Isabella’s use of the word ‘beloved’. It feels wrong to use it now that Benvolio is dead. It takes Rosaline a moment to take in what Isabella has said, but when she does she has to restrain the urge to run across the room and hug her friend.

“Thank you,” she mutters to Isabella, as the two of them wind their way through the palace. She has no idea where they’re going, trusting Isabella to find them a place away from all the squabbling.

“I thought it would be better for you to see him before the funeral,” Isabella has lead them to the back gate of the palace where a moderately decorated carriage is waiting.

Rosaline gulps, she’s not even thought about the funeral yet. She’ll have to be there. As the deceased betrothed she can’t not go. But Isabella is right, if she sees his lifeless body in front of hundreds of people there’s a likelihood that she’ll embarrass herself.

“I can come with you if you wish,” Isabella smiles reassuringly and moves them towards the carriage.

“Yes please, though,” Rosaline hesitated, unsure how to say what she wants without hurting her friend, “Would you mind if I went in by myself?”

“Of course not. I will wait outside for you.”

Rosaline’s never been to the Montague mausoleum before. It’s strange as it looks just like the Capulet one, the same style but with different words and people buried there. She squeezes Isabella’s hand, takes a deep breath and walks in.

It’s not as bad as Rosaline had been expecting. She doesn’t go straight over to Benvolio but sits on a little bench first just outside the door. Just thinking and imagining. In her thoughts she think about him, how he’d probably been down here to see his cousin and parents. Rosaline knows that they’re down here somewhere. She doesn’t even know their names. It never occurred to her to ask Benvolio about his family, his parents and siblings. There was too little time. When they were together they were either fighting each other or figuring out who was attempting to take down Verona.

After a little while she feels sufficiently calm enough to go into his tomb. The soft light and sleeping pose he’s been placed in makes it look as if he’s simply sleeping.

“Hello, beloved,” Rosaline whispers, wanting him to sit up and smile at her. He doesn’t of course, but she can’t help hoping.

She doesn’t pull back the cloth that’s covering his face. The sight of his lifeless eyes already haunts her dreams and she doesn’t another image of him dead floating around in her head. Instead she presses her lips to his forehead through the cloth. The tears start dripping down her face again. They’re silent tears now. As if Rosaline has used up all her loud, screaming sobs and all she has left is her quiet grief that clings to her wherever she goes.

“I,” she starts and then stops. 

She doesn’t know what to say. What is she supposed to say? She can’t say all the things she should have said when he was alive because she should have said them when could he have smiled at them, when he could have kissed her and cried with her. She can’t tell this lifeless corpse that she loves him, because it’s not the corpse she loves. It’s the man the corpse used to be. The man who smiled and rolled his eyes at her, who’s lips twitching across the table meant he’d be whispering a snarky comment in her ear as soon as he found a spare moment. She can’t say anything to this corpse because it’s not Benvolio, and that’s who she really wants to say those things to. But he’s gone and all Rosaline has left is this cold lifeless body.

“Say Hello to Juliet for me,” She smooths down the cloth, “And keep Romeo out of trouble.”

Rosaline stumbles out of the doorway, her eyes dazed at the bright sunlight. Isabella is sat outside waiting and sat next to her is Livia, a large bunch of wild flowers in her hand.

“I thought it might be nice to,” Livia holds up the flowers to finish her statement.

Rosaline smiles at her sister, and pulls her into a hug. Livia, who might not understand why she fell in love with Benvolio, but accepts it nonetheless, manages to make Rosaline feel something other than grief for a brief minute.

Livia hands the flowers over, willing to stay outside if Rosaline doesn’t want her help.

“Come with me?” Rosaline asks both Isabella and Livia, who follow her back inside.

She splits the bunch of flowers in two. First she puts half at Romeo’s feet, she wishes she knew him better. That she made Benvolio talk about him or that she actually asked Juliet questions when she came home talking of a Montague boy and true love. 

“Make sure he laughs a little,” Rosaline whispers to Romeo as she leaves his tomb.

At Benvolio’s tomb Livia and Isabella both look awkward and uncomfortable, but Rosaline smiles bravely at them.

“Thank you for bring me here,” She says to Isabella, “ And thank you for the flowers,” She says to Livia.

The flowers are placed at Benvolio’s side, over the wound that caused his death. Rosaline knows they won’t help now but she likes to think of them growing over the gash and healing him. Before they leave she squeezes his hand and thinks of everything she should have said. Rosaline pushes her tears away and walks back into the open street. 

In the carriage Livia produces another bunch of wild flowers, pretty pink and red ones, that remind Rosaline of Juliet.

“Would you mind if we went to the Capulet mausoleum?”Livia asks shyly.

Isabella doesn’t respond but shouts up to the driver to take them to the Capulet mausoleum. When they arrive Rosaline lets Livia take the lead. She’s already been to see Juliet’s tomb but Livia hasn’t. Isabella waits outside for the two of them to place their flowers with the other offerings given to Juliet.

“Do you think she was happy?” Livia asks while arranging the flowers neatly around her head.

“When she married Romeo she was the happiest I’ve ever seen her.” Rosaline thinks back on that night in the darkened church where she first met Benvolio.

“Even though she married a Montague?”

“Yes, the heart,” Rosaline takes a shaky breath, “The heart doesn’t care about names or family feud, it simply wants what it wants.”

Livia nods, averting her eyes from Rosaline’s. For the first time in a while Rosaline notices that her sister seems different. She can’t quite pinpoint it but Livia seems lighter and happier, something that Rosaline hasn’t had time to notice in all her grief.

With the flower neatly arranged, Livia makes her way back to the carriage. Rosaline hangs behind, fiddling with the flowers.

“I understand now,” she says, “Why you married him the way you did. Why you-” Rosaline breaks off, a sob welling in her throat, “I’m glad you got to marry him.” 

The funeral is a few days later. Rosaline cries but she doesn’t sob or wail liked she’d been expecting. At least she doesn’t do so until she reaches home. She had thought she’d cried her heart out but she manages to keep finding fresh tears everyday.

She doesn’t enquire into the resolution of the argument between her uncle and Lord Capulet. Honestly, she couldn’t care less, but she does get told that as Benvolio’s intended she’ll have some money settled on her but still have to live in the Capulet household.

“You may marry again if you wish,” Her uncle says, still holding the belief that Rosaline is only pretending to grieve Benvolio. “And your bride price has been paid so you will not have to return to the servants quarters.”

He looks around the room awkwardly, then leaves with a sickly sweet smile. Rosaline throws a pillow at the door after he’s closed it. _Marry again?_ She’s never been married and she certainly isn’t planning to be now.

A few days pass and Rosaline goes back to routine but truly, her heart isn’t in it. She feels like she’s floating through the days. She tries to pay attention to the city, to spot any patterns that could show where the cause of all the violence stems from. Her mind is foggy from all the crying and whenever she looks about her all she notices is the empty space where Benvolio should be.

“My Lady, there’s a delivery downstairs for you.” 

Rosaline puts down her book. She had been making some progress but her mind keeps drifting. When she arrives downstairs it’s to her Aunt shouting at whoever has arrived with the delivery.

“I don’t not want it in my house.” She declares.

“Aunt, I believe that the delivery is for me?”

“Rosaline, you will tell this man to take it back to at once,” Rosaline doesn’t even know what it is but she kindly smiles at the man and requests him to show her what he brought.

It’s a chest, engraved with a large letters spelling ‘B.M’. 

“It was Lord Benvolio’s my Lady. Lord Montague thought you were the most appropriate person to send it too.”

“Yes, thank you. I-” She stares down at the chest. These are Benvolio’s things, his clothes, papers, books and whatever else he kept. Whatever is left of him is contained with the chest and Rosaline is making sure it stays with her.

“Rosaline, send it back this instant.” Lady Capulet hisses.

“Please bring it up to my room. “ She turns to her Aunt, “I promise you shan’t have to see it ever again.”

With the chest in her room Rosaline takes to staring at it. She knows she should open it but it still feels like an invasion of privacy. Benvolio’s been dead only a week. She shouldn’t be rooting through his things so soon.

Eventually she gives in and pops the lock open, pushing the lid back. The smell of Benvolio floods her senses. Rosaline wasn’t even aware that she knew what Benvolio smelt like but now the scent is filling the room it brings tears to her eyes. The last time she smelt it was on a cobbled street after Benvolio had stopped breathing.

Rosaline kneels down next to the chest, handkerchief in hand. She could call for Livia to help her sort through the items but this is personal. She should have been able to become familiar with which of his shirts have holes in them and how he likes to fold his trousers. But she’ll never get that opportunity now, this is a close as she’ll get to living with Benvolio so she wants to do this by herself.

With most of the afternoon gone and Benvolio’s personal items all over her room, Rosaline reaches the bottom of the chest. Tucked into the corner is a little bag that jangles when Rosaline picks it up. 

This must be his purse, Rosaline assumes. She wonders why Lord Montague didn’t take the money from it before he sent it over. Then her fingers wrap around it and she feels some resistance against them.

She opens the bag. Inside there’s a small square of paper folded over and over so it can fit inside the small pouch. Rosaline unfolds it until she can she the address written on the front. 

“Oh,” The name on the front is her’s, written in what she assumes to be Benvolio’s swirling handwriting.

To stop her tears dripping on the paper and ruining the letter, Rosaline wipes them away, sniffling as she unfolds the paper. It’s not a particularly long letter, but the words make Rosaline’s heart clench. The ache in her chest deepens and her anger at whoever caused his death is back with a vengeance.

At the bottom of the letter there’s an extra note, written almost illegibly, like he put it there as an afterthought.

It’s information about their investigation.

He’d uncovered something and Rosaline assumes that’s why he’d insisted on a city walk instead of a quiet picnic. It’s not a lot to go on but with all the other tidbits they have she just might be able to make something of it. 

If she’s lucky she’ll be able to find out who’s promoting the Capulet-Montague feud and stop them. They took Benvolio and Juliet from her and countless others from their loved ones. There’s been enough bloodshed in the city and if Rosaline has an opportunity to stop it she’s going to take it.

Rosaline might not be able to fight with a sword but she has other ways of making people suffer for what they’ve done. And suffer they will.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd just like to repeat ... I'M SORRY.
> 
> Also it takes about 10 minutes to bleed out from an arterial leg wound so there's plenty of time for talking!
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](willsdarcy.tumblr.com)


End file.
